This month's YOIS column is
a definite departure from previous outings.

Instead of filling a little server space with some software collecting
tips and semi-accurate information, this time around I'll pretty much
just be ranting about a number of things that have brought my blood to
a boil in recent months. Those of you who enjoy me when I get mad will
be delighted with this issue. Those who don't may prefer to pass on
the entire column. Oh, and there's quite a bit of profanity here too,
but hopefully everyone who chooses to continue is mature enough to
handle some immaturity on my part.

Oh, I've also applied for a new, easy-to-remember domain name for the
Shoppe, YOIS.biz, .biz being one of the newest top-level domains approved
by ICANN.
(In case you're wondering, YOIS.com was already taken, and the owners --
some snotty fitness club in the U.K. -- wouldn't part with it. Hope they
all collapse in a pile of soiled jockstraps from an overdose of Gatorade
and steroids... jerkwads.)

See, this is it. This is the whole column this month. If you enjoy
this kind of thing, sit back, relax, and feel the hate.
If you don't, you should probably just back away, and now's your last
chance.

Since I should probably maintain at least some semblance of being a
game-collecting information source, let's start off by taking a look at--

The Games That Pissed Us Off

Electronic gaming has always come under controversy, beginning with the
earliest days of video games. I'm sure everyone here has been subjected
to all the standard criticisms from parents: You spend too much time
playing games, they're bad for your eyes, you're not getting any exercise,
they're an expensive waste of money, they teach "kill or be killed"...

Outright censorship of games is uncommon in the U.S., but not elsewhere.
Australia in particular is tough: Violent games like Phantasmagoria
are often banned outright there. This happens occasionally in some
European countries, such as Germany and the U.K., though more often a
censored version is released, with the offensive material altered or
removed altogether.

In this issue I'll take a look at some early controversial games: Titles
that, for one reason or another, got a large group of people or a particular
special-interests group pissed off, back in the early days of computer
entertainment. (Let's say pre-1985.) We'll stick to the realm of commercial,
collectible computer software, since that's what YOIS is dedicated to.
There are already plenty of sites out there dedicated to Sega's Night Trap,
Ripcord's Postal, and Mystique's Custer's Revenge for the
Atari 2600.

Thanks are due to the other members of Oldskool.org's
Software Collectibles Mailing List
-- Karl Kuras, Jim Leonard, and Chris Newman -- for their input. If you
know of one I've overlooked here, please
let me know.
I have to confess a certain fascination with games that the rest of society
has deemed inapropriate for me... forbidden fruit, as it were.

Anyway, here's my list so far:

Softporn (On-Line Systems)
The first computer adventure to generate hate-mail due to its (rather bland)
all-text depictions of sex. A lot of religious types bombarded Ken Williams
for this one. On-Line / Sierra was pretty wild, back in the day -- lots of
hot tub parties at Ken's, and one infamous photoshoot that splashed naked
Roberta Williams on the cover of this very game. Softporn paved
the way for the equally inflammatory Leisure Suit Larry, which had
abysmal sales when Radio Shack refused to carry it... until positive word
of mouth created the demand. (Distribution problems didn't keep Softporn
from selling 20,000 copies, either.)

The Bilestoad (Datamost)
Criticized for its violence (and rejected, ironically, by Softporn
publisher On-Line Systems for that reason). Some magazines even banned it
from reviews. Gameplay consists of two opponents hacking each others'
limbs off with axes, seen from a top-down view. Large characters and quite
realistic graphics for its time, especially for the Apple II. Though they
don't realize it, Mortal Kombat, Time Killers, and their ilk owe
this game a tremendous debt. (The Bilestoad is an excellent game
in its own right: Grab an Apple II emulator and check it out.)

Dracula (CRL Group PLC)
Actually based on Bram Stoker's novel, and the first game in England to
be stamped with a film censorship seal restricting it to persons aged 15
or older due to its graphic descriptions and images. Author Rod Pike also
wrote I-F adaptions of Frankenstein and The Wolfman, and a
game about Jack the Ripper, all with similar content. (Jack the
Ripper, I believe, even got an "18" certificate.)

Crypt of Medea by Sir-Tech
Tame by today's standards, but a graphic horror adventure for its time.
The box carries a voluntary label recommending it only for the "very
mature and strong of heart." This one got mixed reviews upon its
release. In her Book of Adventure Games, Kim Schutte describes
it as "A humorless and gruesome game, full of blood, gore, and little
else." Computer Gaming World, on the other hand, praised
Sir-Tech for brining a non-pornographic adult adventure game to the
market.

Firebug by Muse
What's interesting about this one is that no one actually complained about
the content of the game itself. Rather, it was the game's tagline in ads
("Make an ash of yourself!") that made some people upset, because "ash"
sounds like "ass", and saying words that sound like "ass" is apparently
as bad as saying "ass" itself. Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass. (This was almost
20 years before John Romero "made us his bitch" with Daikatana.)

Lucifer's Realm by Med Systems
You start out in a hospital bed, but soon die and go to Hell, where you
interact with the likes of Capone, Stalin and Hitler. Many sources
credit it as the first game to be banned in the U.S., though I've never
been able to positively confirm this. One of the late Jyym Pearson's
close friends assures me that Jymm himself was delighted upon hearing
the news.

And Chris Newman ("allvideo" on eBay) writes: "There was a game that caused
quite a stir back in 1985-87. It involved the Holocaust, but for the life
of me, I cannot recall the name. I never played the game, but saw a story
about it on the TV news. Given the typical sensationalism of those stories
I can only guess about the truthfulness or reality level of the claims."
I suspect this game may have been Auschwitz, supposedly a variation
of the ancient "Hammurabi" game that put you in charge of managing a
concentration camp. Similar shareware games exist, but you can find a free-
or shareware game on just about any theme, and this one is said to have
been sold commercially. I've never been able to confirm it as more than
an urban legend, though, and am not sure if this is even the game to which
Chris refers. If anyone has any additional information, please share.

(Incidentally, this sort of thing causes the biggest stir in Germany,
where any game bearing Nazi imagery or simulating Axis conquest tends to
get banned. Many strategy wargames, dirt-common and uncollectible in the
states, tend to be highly prized in Germany, where they were never
commercially available.)

Cheating Canadian Bastard

(Canadian Shoppers, please do not take offense because of the title, as
I'm not grouping you all together here. This article is about one
particular guy from Canada who just happens to be a cheating bastard.
All the other Canadians I've ever known have been great to deal with.)

Collecting old games, to me, is one of the truly great things life has
to offer. The other collectors and retrogaming fanatics I've dealt with
have been the nicest group of people I've grown to know online, and have
kept me going at this hobby for over six years. So it's always a shame
when some jerkass has to come along and ruin it for someone else.

Before I offer my own thoughts, I recommend you read Dave Aston's own
account of the
incident. It's pretty clear that someone else e-mailed the seller
after the auction and cheated him out of a fantastic score.

Done reading it? So, okay, so here's what I've learned from this:

I've learned that if you sell something for an idiotically low
buy price, without having a clue what it's worth, and without making
any effort to learn, you can still get lots of money by being a
dastardly, bastardly shit.

I've learned that, contrary to what medical science has reported,
arthritis does not take months or years to develop. Rather, it can
spring up overnight like a cold, and when it does it brings the
victim's computer life to a complete halt, yet strangely, does not
interfere at all with the use of other machines with lots of keys
and buttons, such as, oh, say, a calculator you might use to add
up someone's purchases at, oh, say, a garage sale. From
reading his replies to David, it's clear to me that this seller
really, really wanted so badly to type long
e-mail replies to help facilitate a conclusion to their transaction,
but alas, it was not to be. It's so tragic, the way his old joints
cruelly froze up on him like that. I wonder how he jams his thumb
up his ass, now that it's no longer opposable. Maybe he is just
forced to make do with some other object.

I've learned that it's worth the trouble of leading someone
on for months, dealing with buyer protests, building up lies upon
lies about how you shipped the item but it came back, checking what
you wrote before, trying to keep it all straight because you're old
and you've got Alzheimer's and it's been so long since you've sent
a reply that you've forgotten your previous fibs... Yeah, that's
another point here: This dumbass doesn't even know how to rip
someone off the right way!

Yo, retiredcouple, how it works is: You've GOT their money.
That's all you need. You don't carry on a two-month conversation
once this is done! You don't try to convince the seller that it
costs more to ship than he's willing to pay, because you aren't
going to ship it in the first place! You don't keep asking the
buyer to give you his premission to rip him off!
God. The only thing worse than a lying, cheating bastard is a
lying, cheating bastard who's too stupid to do it right.
I bet if David wrote him back and said, "Yeah, I changed my mind, I
don't want the game anymore", this doofus would mail it to him,
thinking how irritating it'd be for him to have to send it back.
Numbnuts.

In conclusion...
what a complete prick! I'm guessing he's not really Canadian at
all, but moved there from Detroit. (Keep reading, you'll understand.)
You wretched old fuck, I bet you spent all your ill-gotten money
on prune juice, denture cleaner, and stamps to send in multiple entries
to the Publisher's Clearinghouse sweepstakes. Right now our only
consolation is that you will die soon, hopefully in an excruciatingly
painful manner from some terrible chronic disease, after which you will
burn in Hell for your despicable greed. Why don't you just call Jack
Kevorkian right now, it's obvious you're on your last legs anyway:

"i dont got no more time no more plus my athritis is actin up cant go
online, leave a comment sayin were workin it out and then i will actualy
get up of my ass and start workin it out, aww damn i just crappd me pants
agaain its hell bein old, gotta go have my wife clean me up" B-)

And if the person who stole this face-mask out from under Aston happens
to read this, I just wanna say:

You're not so smart. We all know what you did, making the seller a higher
offer so he'd give in to temptation and breach his eBay contract. We
figured you out. True, you may have gotten away with it this time, but
that doesn't undo the fact that you are a complete bottom-feeding,
scum-sucking slimebucket who can only be happy for himself, never for
someone else's good fortune. You don't have the right to call yourself
a real collector. Real collectors get their best scores through
perseverance, and the luck that eventually comes with it. Not by pulling
sleaze tactics on other, honest enthusiasts.

Oh yeah, and if you ever attempt this kind of shit on me, and I find
out who you are (and I guarantee you I will get angry enough that I will
make the time to track you down), I will ban you from the Shoppe
and blast your reputation clear across the net until no self-respecting
collector will ever want to be seen dealing with you again. (Remember
what I did with Software & More? Well that was unintentional.)

What to do if any lying, cheating bastard tries to screw you over like this:

(We're talking last-resort here, i.e. you've been patient, you've made
multiple attempts at e-mail, you've tried being reasonable, and he's still
set on making you suffer.)

Request the seller's contact info from eBay and try calling him up in
person. People tend to be more responsive in person, probably because
they can't put the call aside and conveniently "forget" about it, or
become unable to type a response to it when they mysteriously develop
arthritis two minutes after they read it. Better yet, if you live nearby
and have the time, drop in on them in person. If the contact info in
their account turns out to be falsified, eBay may suspend them if you
report it.

If it's been awhile and you're not getting any e-mail replies at all,
try sending a really vicious hate mail. I did this once, and,
surprise surprise, got a response the very next day, from a seller who
hadn't written back in weeks. He was very offended, and went on
and on about all the problems he'd been going through lately, his bad back
which had him bedridden for weeks but PRAISE THE LORD miraculously
cleared up just in time for him to immediately answer my nasty message.
Classic
Vintage Game Mafia.
(Hide your identity using a secondary e-mail account or an anonymous
remail service to send the hate letter, BTW, don't give him a reason
to not ship at all.)

If you've paid for something and don't get it, file a formal fraud
complaint in as many places as you can. Good places to start include the
National Fraud Information Center,
the Internet Fraud Complaint Center,
and eBay's own Rules and Safety
(recently renamed "Rules and Rules and Rules and RULES AND RULES AND RULES
AND RULES and Safety" B-). Note that the first two are U.S. organizations.
Depending on your country, the names of national consumer protection
services will vary.

eBay has a method by which you can file an insurance claim for an item
you never received, but don't expect much from them. They have this
retarded policy where you're not eligible for insurance unless the
item's final bid was over $25. Doesn't matter if you bid on several
items by the same seller, and together they total $25, it's only for
each individual item $25 or over. I've gone back and forth
with them on this, and they assure me they still take fraud very
seriously, even if it's less-than-$25 fraud. Regardless, you should
file an online report that you paid for and didn't receive each of these
items, but don't bother taking it any further with eBay, they're about
useless when it comes to this sort of thing. (What do you expect from
"only a venue"?)

Even if you got your money back but the seller backed out on an item
you really wanted, you should report the seller. Bids on eBay are
legal contracts, and even though eBay can't force the seller to go
through with it, at least you'll black-mark their permanent record.
Better yet, bid high on a bunch of their other auctions and then
don't pay. eBay won't do a thing to stop you, and the seller will
have to go to the trouble of filling out a credit request to recover
eBay's cut of the take.

Don't be afraid to be a bastard sometimes, so long as you're an honest
bastard. If you've gotten screwed, you've earned the inalienable right.

Flying to another part of the country was decided against, since the
currency exchange rates make everything here doubly expensive for
Manuel. Anyway, long story short, one of us (I can't remember exactly
who is to blame) suggested taking a train to another American city,
which would give me a break after about a solid week of driving.
For some God-unknown reason, we settled on Detroit.

Yeah, that's right, go ahead and laugh. But I'd never been there, I'd
never talked to anyone else who had been there, and we figured: It's
close enough that we don't have to take an overnight train. You've
got your automotive history, we both enjoy history museums. Detroit
is supposedly famous for its music (and Manuel's
a musician).
It's right near the border so we could cross into Canada and he'd
get to visit two countries. And it was different territory to hunt
for games, so we thought maybe we'd get lucky and stumble onto a
good source.

Arrived at the train station around 9:30pm, took a cab to the hotel.
Unpacked and went out in search of food and drinks. Discovered that
downtown Detroit was almost completely deserted, aside from a few
roving gangs. Nothing is open, not even bars. Finally came across one
with lights on, but the gang graffiti and knife-carved words outside
the entrance had the definite air of a sleaze pit, so we passed. The
vacant streets gave off a very creepy Twilight Zone / Omega Man air,
and I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Wondering if we've
made a horrible, horrible mistake, but not quite ready to give up
just yet.

Went back to the hotel and asked for suggestions, were finally
directed to a small district with signs of life, including a
Mexican bar (also practically deserted, but at least open) where
I got a heaping, lukewarm bowl of some of the most bland, piss-poor
excuse for chili I've ever punished my gastrointestinal tract by
ingesting. Manuel got... I forget, but he said it wasn't any better.
Returned to the hotel and went to bed, hoping the city would be more
interesting in the morning, once people were up and about. So much
for Detroit nightlife. What a first impression.

(It gets worse.)

Day 2:

Got up at 10:00, the hotel's continental breakfast had been cleared
away already, so we wandered out in search of a restaurant. You'd
think there would be a restaurant in downtown Detroit, wouldn't you?
I mean, the people who work there have to eat, right? Looked around
for awhile, finally asked some guy sitting at a desk in some building's
entrance, and he pointed us toward a cafeteria in the "Marquette building".
Found it, looked over the sign they had right there, in plain sight
showing breakfast selections, stepped up to order... and were rudely
informed they're not making breakfast items anymore... What the
fuck?! It's still early. Left our trays there, walked out,
went to Subway instead. Ate fast food under the aural assault of the
most godawful hip-hop / gangsta rap shit.

Headed toward the Renaissance Center to locate the Detroit Visitors
Bureau, thinking they'd be a good place to start. Might have been,
if they were even there anymore. The Visitors Bureau is gone.
It's just not there. No idea of what might have happened to
it. Had a guy at an information desk in the Center call the number
in Manuel's guidebook: Disconnected, no forwarding. Guidebook is
only a couple of years old, how could the central tourist information
center for a major city have completely disappeared in that short time?

Okay, what about bus schedules and maps? Which line? Detroit runs two
bus lines, the Detroit city lines, and another one called SMART (an
acronym deserving absolutely no association with the people working for
it). For bus schedules we get directed to an information booth at the
major downtown station. Argued with a withered, skanky old crone who,
I swear, looked exactly like Mrs Avery on "The PJ's", debating
the existence of bus schedules.

Mrs Avery creaks open her big oozing mouth enough to burble out that
there aren't any schedules. Manuel makes the mistake of attempting to
reason logically with her microscopic intellect, but Mrs Avery adamantly
insists there are no schedules. Asks us where we want to go, she'll
tell us how to get there. We explain, excruciatingly, that we do not
know the area intimately, we are visiting, we want to ride around in
the buses and see what is here so we don't have to walk the entire way.
Isn't that what buses are for?! And can we just please
have some schedules and maps so we don't get hopelessly lost? Mrs
Avery, wanting desperately to get us off her back so she can go back
to getting paid for filing her nails, says go to Cadillac Square, ask
for maps there.

Fine. Found Cadillac Square, were informed no maps were available there
either. Back to Renaissance Center, ask if they have a clue where
to find maps. (There were none at the hotel either, except for a huge
colorful happy-happy foldout with absolutely no relevant details.)
There's a different guy at the desk this time, they must have waited
until we left, switched desk people, then the first guy ran to a hiding
place and watched us while snickering gleefully at their oh-so-clever
little prank. For amusement, Manuel does the talking while pretending
he can barely speak English. (In reality he's very fluent.) This guy
directs us to the Marriott, where they actually give us a passable map.
Thank you.

On the way back to the hotel, we begin to poke fun at various odd
things we've noticed about Detroit. The streets all have signs
that read "No Standing". What the fuck is up with that, you're not
allowed to stand in Detroit?! "Hey, stander! You can't stand
in our city! Go to Ann Arbor if you want to do that standing thing,
you're not welcome here!" Comment to each other on the origin of the
strange hot vapor constantly emanating from manholes. What the
fuck IS that?? Emissions from the torture chamber where they
imprison any poor visitors they're unable to drive out of the city
using rude behavior? The hot breath of some festering hell-spawn
the denizens of Detroit collectively worship? What?!
We are unable to reach a satisfying conclusion. I attempt to cope
with the insanity surrounding us by inventing a game called "spit
on the pigeons". It doesn't make things better.

Back at the hotel, dig out the phone book, looking for computer
stores, thrift stores, collectible record stores, standard collector
procedure. Manuel has a half-hour conversation with the hotel counter
girl to determine the location of places not on the newly-acquired map
we spent two hours getting (which was only of the immediate downtown
area, of course).

Back to the bus station. Mrs Avery looks not at all pleased to see
us return. Manuel shows her the list we've put together, and OH
MY GOD JUST LIKE MAGIC she tells us they DO have
bus maps, meaning she was just being a difficult, impertinent, lying
bitch earlier, when she told us they didn't. Cranky old bat, hope
she got mugged by a crackhead gang going home from work that night.

One down, now we go to the SMART offices (cuz there's two different
bus lines, remember, each with absolutely no knowledge of the other).
Get the maps we need there. Go back to Mrs Avery to bug her
yet again for one last map we need. After half a fucking day,
we have bus schedules. Time well spent.

First stop: Carl's Discount Computers, and a possible source for
vintage games. Turns out to be within walking distance, so we head
there. Instructed by a guy on a stool to sign in with our name and
where we're going. Did so, using a fake name. The directory sign
says Carl's is on the 2nd floor, so we took the elevator there...
and found a deserted slum, probably a crackhouse by night.
Graffiti, dirt and grit all over the floor, ashtray with cigarette
butts and chicken bones in it, no Carl's, no evidence there ever
was a Carl's.

Went back downstairs and asked Stool-Man what was up, learn that
Carl's is actually on the 13th floor. You fuckwipe, why the hell
didn't you tell us that before?! Your job is to sit there on your
ass all day, and you've never gotten around to changing the sign so
it has the correct floor number?! Just to be a smartass, I cross
off "2nd floor" next to my fake name and write "13th floor" in its
place. (For the Americans among us: Yes, there was an actual floor
in that building labeled as the 13th. For everyone else: Traditionally
in America buildings skip from the 12th floor to the 14th, to avoid
the superstition associated with the "unlucky" number 13, because
some of us are morons, especially those of us living in Detroit.)

Took the elevator to the 13th floor. Finally found Carl's, but
(Wait for it!...) the store is closed and locked. Sign in the
window says "Back at 12:00", it's 1:30 now. Like everyone else
we've encountered so far, Carl has no interest in our business or
our money. Go fuck yourself up the ass with a Ginsu knife, Carl.
You probably didn't have anything good anyway.

On the way out, I ponder Stool-Man: How much does he get paid to sit
there all day telling people to sign in? If there's a fire, can he
leave, or does he have to make sure the firemen write down what floor
they're going up to? Maybe he's just there to scope for cops coming to
bust up the crackheads' parties, in exchange for a hit of their best
stuff? Decide not to ask.

Outside again, Manuel and I both agree we need to get the fuck out
of Detroit for a little while. Decide to take the bus through the
tunnel under the lake to Windsor, Canada, so it's back to the bus
station. On the way, I find myself crossing streets without looking,
stepping out in front of traffic when the light reads "Don't Walk",
because I just don't care. Figure if I get hit by a car and die,
at least I won't be in Detroit anymore.

Our spirits are lifted slightly when we get to bug Mrs Avery one last
time about where the stop is for the Windsor bus. She looks like
she wishes we'd just go away. We're only too happy to oblige as we
go stand at the bus stop, right under one of those "No Standing"
signs. Fuck you, Detroit PD. What are you gonna do, throw us out
of town? You'd be doing us a favor.

Twenty minutes later, we're through the tunnel, passing through
Canadian customs. Customs officer asks me the purpose of my visit,
and I say, quote, to get the hell out of Detroit for awhile,
endquote. No argument, guess they get that a lot. Manuel
gets his passport stamped, and soon we're looking across the lake at
the fabulous ruins of Detroit. We walk around a bit, taking in Canada.
The streets are cleaner, the air is easier to breathe, even the summer
heat feels less oppressive here. We find ourselves wishing we could
spend the night here, but I booked the hotel online to save money, so
it's nonrefundable.

People are nicer too. What a difference a few hundred feet of water can
make. We find a bar and have our first enjoyable meal in two days, and
Manuel is able to relax enough to have a few drinks. We talk about how
nice it is to not be in Detroit. We realize Manuel didn't have a
beer the whole time we were there. He'd given up his German-born love of
beer, lest he permanently ruin his enjoyment of it by coming to associate
it with Detroit. Similarly, we realize that we hadn't even thought of our
families, friends, game collecting (aside from about 10 seconds in front
of Carl's) the whole time we were here. Having the things you love in
life pushed out of your mind by the sense of utter bleakness and despair
beating down on you... that is what it feels like to visit Detroit.

Reluctantly, we board the bus back across the tunnel. Pass through U.S.
customs, then head for the door. "No, not that door, that door,
you have to get back on the bus, what's the problem with you two,
can't you read my mind?!" Snotty customs bitch. We know immediately
that we're back in Detroit.

It's late afternoon, so we head back to the hotel for a swim, then
dinner. But not before complaining to the hotel staff that our toilet
was leaking water all over the floor. Welcome to fucking paradise.
(Best Western Downtown Detroit, BTW.) Later we'll put together a bus
schedule to optimize our time tomorrow. Decide to eat first, though,
because at 7:00pm everyone in Detroit will be closing up shop after
a hard day of pissing us off.

(It gets worse.)

Day 3:

We awoke feeling refreshed and somewhat less pessimistic. Hit the
continental breakfast, then took our pre-planned schedule with us to
the bus station. Rode the SMART line (smooth ride, working air
conditioning, very relaxing, our spirits rose) until it stopped
at the mall, then we walked a couple of blocks on foot to switch
routes. According to the route info, buses come every 20 minutes,
so we wait.

And wait.

And wait, for over 45 minutes, during which time only one
fucking bus passes, without stopping for us. Our meticulously planned
outing, shot down by a bus company run by retards with shit for brains,
who can't even keep their own fucking schedules straight. Manuel's
pacing, I'm ripping big tufts of grass out of the ground to avoid doing
the same to my hair.

I'm fed up, I've had it. No more. I walk back to the mall. Some guy
asks if I can loan him bus fare. Fuck you, buddy, no one in Detroit has
done a damn thing for me, why the fuck should I give a shit about you?
I get on the bus, ride back downtown, go straight to the hotel, blow off
some steam in the exercise room to avoid smashing things and then having
to pay for them. Manuel tries again, hitting a record store and finding
some rare jazz albums he'd been after for a bargain price, but definitely
not worth coming to Detroit for.

That was it for us, we'd both had it. Detroit had beaten us. Coming here
was a mistake, staying here was another. Went for a swim, then to Subway
(the best restaurant we found in Detroit), then watched TV at the hotel
the rest of the night. Didn't even bother leaving the hotel again. All
we wanted at this point was to ride out our remaining time, then head for
the train station early tomorrow to get the fuck away from this
hellhole.

(It gets worse.)

Day 4:

Got up early, 6:30. We're taking no chances at getting stuck here another
day. Ate continental breakfast (I swiped a couple of apples for the train
trip back), then boarded the bus for the train station. We took the same
SMART line as before, since the station was along that route. Manuel and
I both keep watch for the Amtrak sign, we saw it during our ride the other
day. We see it, and I pull the cord to request a stop.

"Stop requested" sign goes off, but the bus shows no sign of slowing down
or pulling over. What the fuck...?! I pull it again, and again
the driver cancels it. Repeat, several times, as I start to get agitated,
we're missing the damn stop. I utter a number of interesting phrases
through clenched teeth. When I was riding back from mall the other day
(same route), the bus was stopping at every fucking block, why the
hell won't this shithead let us off? We're forced against our will to
remain on the bus all the way to Highland Park. Then, when he sees a
bunch of people waiting to get on, this cocksucking asshole driver finally
pulls over and opens the door. We storm off.

As I walk away, I suddenly feel a sharp slap upside my head. Then another.
This specimen, this vile, worthless piece of human garbage,
has the nerve to follow me and hit me twice, calling me a punk. Strangely,
I do not get any madder, probably because my pissed-off meter is already
maxed out by this point. I do flip him off as we begin our walk, two miles
back to the station, in the broiling sun. We get sidetracked once because
the fucking Amtrak sign was pointing the wrong way, but mercifully arrive
at the station in plenty of time. On the way, we pass at least two other
SMART stops that would have been closer if this fuckwit driver had known
how to do his job. (A bus stopping at a bus stop, what a
fucking concept!)

We wait in the train station for about an hour, and aside from maybe the
pool at the hotel, it's the most enjoyable experience we've had here.
Manuel's hungry, so he hits a fast food joint across the street but comes
back empty-handed after standing around for 10 minutes with no one taking
his order. One final insult before we go.

On the way back I drafted a couple of very angry letters, which I typed
up and sent out the very night I got back home. A straightforward,
detailed account of the assault by the bus driver was sent to the SMART
offices and the Detroit PD (bunch of fat-ass inbred donut-munchers, ignore
me will ya?!), and I mailed a vicious hate letter to the Detroit
News and the Detroit Free Press (two sorry-ass excuses for
journalism that joined forces to suck even more), the Detroit Chamber
of Commerce (recently returned to me, undeliverable, no forwarding
address, big fucking surprise there, huh?), and Dennis W. Archer, the
incompetent puppet figure in charge of pretending to govern this shithole.
(It's amazing how much info you can find in a phone book at the train
station.)

Here are a couple of my favorite passages from the hate letter:

"In conclusion, Mr. Archer, Detroit has been the single worst place I have
ever had the severe judgment lapse of deciding to visit. I will never in
my life return to this miserable shithole town, and I will pass on my
nightmarish experience through my website, and verbally to anyone who
will listen. I spit on your city. I piss on your city. I wipe my ass
on your city and then worry about contracting a rectal infection from
coming into contact with it."

...and...

"Perhaps you do not want happy tourists invading your bleak,
oppressive pisshole excuse for a city. Perhaps you think this is funny.
So go ahead, Mr. Mayor, laugh, snicker, let your big drooly mouth gape
open in a cackling rictus at our misfortune, but just remember, you
are the one who has to exist in this bumblefuck burg, day to day, for
the rest of your life, without committing suicide. I do not. I have
survived your hellish metropolitan sewer and I am stronger for it.
So fuck off and die."

Yes. I sent this. To the mayor. Every word. (He hasn't responded.
Probably hasn't finished reading it yet, the illiterate moron. That or
it's too dark to make out the words with his head crammed up his ass
like that.)

I have never been to a place that has drained my soul and sapped my will
to live as much as Detroit. The three days I spent there were the worst
of my entire life, and that includes the time I had to go without hot
water for three days, and another three-day period when I was stricken
with botulism. How does anyone live there, day after day, without
like, committing suicide? These people are the laziest, rudest, most
unhelpful excuses for human beings I have ever had the misfortune of
encountering. I loathe, despise, and abhor Detroit and everyone in it
with an absolute passion. I've even purchased a domain
name, NukeDetroit.com, for building an anti-Detroit site, which will be
my next big project once the new Shoppe codebase is up and running.

I've also started using "Detroit" as an adjective in everyday conversation,
to express that something totally bites, licks, and/or sucks dog ass.
(Manuel came up with this, thanks for the great idea.) For example:

"That game is in totally Detroit condition, there's no way it's worth $50."

"Don't even bother playing Daikatana, it's Detroit."

And in a way this is accurate, because the name Detroit is derived from
the base word "detritus", meaning refuse or worthless, disgusting waste
material. I encourage everyone else to pick this slang up and use it when
possible. Help me get the message out: Detroit is the dry, encrusted fecal
matter in the anal cavity of the United States. (And to any Shoppers who
happen to live there -- if you can call existence in Detroit "living":
Sorry to break it to you, but your city sucks. Wake up. Face the facts.
Move away now, before it's too late.)

Okay, I feel somewhat better getting that off my chest. (Anybody
still reading after all that?)

Quite a bit of new Ultima stock this time, as I had a good score in
the Chicago area. Plus a number of Infocom folios. For those of you who
didn't get the mailing list message, check my eBay auctions:
To free up space for more collectible items, I've been liquidating a bunch
of the incomplete and non-collectible stock with low BuyItNow prices and
starting bids of only $1.00 each. It's been going pretty fast. Speaking
of the mailing list, I'm signed up with a new
hosting service, so it's once again clear to sign up if you haven't already.
(If you already did once, you don't need to do it again.)

The early back issues have also been reformatted for viewing in larger
browser windows, and revised for accuracy. In the past, I wrote the
columns as I was still learning much of the hobby myself, and a lot of
incomplete or inaccurate information slipped through. Why continue
propagating it? Everything should be corrected now. I've also updated
a lot of the links to sites that have moved. The Shoppe history,
though, has been left intact, for historical interest (assuming any
exists).

I'll keep you all posted whenever any interesting developments occur in
the Detroit saga. Right now I've talked to the chief complaints guy for
the SMART bus lines, and he says they're investigating my incident, but
they have to go through the proper channels (i.e. the bus drivers' union).
So it's the waiting game for a couple more weeks. I've downloaded some
recording software, and will be recording my future conversations with
this guy, so I can post a few of the more interesting snippets here for
everyone's amusement (in the proud tradition of TheSpark.com's
"Date My Sister" Project).

I've also got a particularly evil plan for getting back at the driver,
once I know his name... or the SMART complaints guy, if he won't give it
to me. (I've got his.) Depending on how he handles things, he can either
be the one single helpful person in all of Detroit, or he can be the target
of my vengeance when it's time for C.E. to kick some ass, ass, ass, ass,
ass, ass, ass, ass, ass.